In the ancient mists of time, when the world was still shaped by the breaths of dragons and the whims of the heavens, there lived an old man in the northern part of China known as Yugong. He was nearly ninety years old, a man whose skin was as weathered as the bark of an ancient pine and whose eyes held the quiet patience of a still lake. Yugong lived in a humble dwelling nestled in the shadow of two colossal peaks: the Taihang and Wangwu mountains. These mountains were not merely high; they were titans of rock and earth, stretching seven hundred li in circumference and reaching so high into the clouds that their summits were lost in an eternal veil of white. To the people of the region, these mountains were insurmountable barriers that dictated the very rhythm of their lives. For Yugong and his family, the mountains were a constant source of hardship. Every time they wished to travel to the south or trade in the markets beyond the peaks, they had to traverse winding, treacherous paths that added weeks to their journey. The direct path was blocked by the sheer wall of the mountains, forcing the villagers to endure isolation and poverty. Yugong had spent nearly a century observing the toll these mountains took on his kin, and one day, as the sun dipped behind the jagged silhouette of Wangwu, a spark of resolve ignited in his heart.
He gathered his entire clan beneath the shade of a large scholar tree. His sons, their wives, and his many grandchildren looked at him with reverence. Yugong stood tall, his voice surprisingly firm for his age. He proposed a plan that seemed to defy all logic: they would dig away the mountains. He argued that if they worked together, they could level the peaks and create a straight road leading all the way to the southern banks of the Han River. The family sat in stunned silence. His wife, a woman of practical mind, voiced the concerns that any sane person would hold. She asked where they would possibly put the mountains of earth and rock they excavated, and how a man of ninety could hope to even chip away at the base of such giants. Yugong, undeterred, explained that they would carry the debris to the edge of the Bohai Sea and dump it into the deep waters of the abyss. His sons, moved by their father's vision and the prospect of a better life for their own children, pledged their strength to the cause. And so, the labor began.
Armed with nothing but primitive hoes, woven baskets, and the strength of their convictions, the family set out to face the mountains. They broke the hard soil and shattered the stubborn rocks, filling basket after basket. The task was grueling. To reach the Bohai Sea to dump a single load of earth took them nearly a year for a round trip. They would leave in the heat of summer and return as the spring blossoms began to fade. Among those who joined them was a young boy, the son of a widow from the neighboring village of Jingcheng. Though he was barely a child, he jumped at the chance to help, his small hands working alongside the calloused palms of the elders. The sight of this tiny group chipping away at the base of the majestic Taihang Mountains was both absurd and deeply moving. News of Yugong’s endeavor spread throughout the provinces, eventually reaching the ears of a man known as Zhisou, the Wise Old Man of the River Bend. Zhisou was a man who prided himself on his intellect and his understanding of the world's limitations. He traveled to the mountainside to see the 'folly' for himself.